


Good Grief

by 8ethespider8itch



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 17:53:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12090282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8ethespider8itch/pseuds/8ethespider8itch
Summary: Chloe Price is gone. Max is grieving. The world, somehow, goes on turning.Inspired and driven by Bastille's "Good Grief," the authoritative song on loss.





	Good Grief

_So, what would you little maniacs like to do first?"_

 

Max covered her eyes, waiting in horrified suspense for the gunshot's boneshattering blast. 1, 2, 3... The counting kept her from screaming, until - 10! - the blast rung out, and Max dropped to her knees in the ringing aftershock. She would realize later there was no ringing, just a keening scream she didn't know how to stop. She dragged herself around the corner of the stall like she was moving through water, pulling Chloe, still breathing shallowly, into her lap, who stared up at her in wonder.

 

"Now... I know I'm dead," she croaked, blood dropping down her chin, lips parted and panting. "Max...Caulfield...is here."

 

"Your first mate has to see you off, doesn't she?" Max asked, choking back tears. "I'm so sorry."

 

"No." Chloe's eyes burned bright through what was probably an agonizing haze of pain. "You're... here now."

 

The door slammed open, and David was there, shouting for help into a walkie and lifting Chloe from Max's arms. All Max could think, helplessly, was that Chloe wouldn't be in any of the photos she'd taken when they'd done this week before.

 

\-------------☆--------☆----------

 

 

With eyes screwed shut, heels of hands digging into her eyeballs, Max stood beside Joyce next to an open grave on a dewy Thursday morning. The canvas of her shoes was soaked straight through, and her feet were sopping. She stared at them between her fingers as she covered her face. There had been a lovely eulogy, extolling Chloe’s “free spirit” and “wild heart.” No one had spoken but the preacher, but it was nice. Max took a turn at the mic, but was only able to choke out, “What’s gonna be left? What’s the world without Chloe Price?” before dissolving into tears. That was a shock, really. Max wasn’t a crier. “Stoic,” her father called her. “Contained,” was her mother’s word. She hadn’t cried over skinned knees or broken bones or moving to Seattle, not in front of anyone at least. She’d shed a few tears for William, but stayed functional and relatively calm as she held Chloe’s hand tight and refused to let go. But now...now…

 

They were lowering the casket, slowly, with a set of pulleys. There was music playing from somewhere far off, seemingly. A song with a strong beat and a soft, melancholy vocal. The song Chloe had played when she danced on her bed, the first time Max came over after returning to Arcadia Bay. Piano Fire. She could see Chloe moving through the haze of smoke and memory, and without realizing, her feet began to move of their own accord, until she realized she too was dancing, here and now. She gave a little chuckle as tears streamed down her face, and they began smoothing dirt over the casket.  


\-------------☆--------☆----------

 

Joyce let Max clean out Chloe’s closet, likely because she couldn’t find it in herself to do it. She insisted that Max take more than one thing, that she hang onto anything she thought she might use. She pressed for Max to take William’s camera. “He’d have wanted it to be used,” she said, and Max went weak in the knees with aching deja vu. She took it, tucking it lovingly into her messenger bag. But all along, she knew exactly what keepsake she wanted: Rachel Amber’s red flannel buttondown. She slept in it at night, burrowing her face deep in the collar and smelling smoke and Axe Anarchy (for girls), the unmistakable smell of Chloe. Somewhere under there was an earthy, floral scent that lingered from its original owner.

 

“I’m sorry Rachel,” she mumbled on the third night after, the third empty night that may well have been a day. Max hadn’t left her bed in a while, if she was being honest. If it weren’t for the cookies mom sent for her birthday, and Kate Marsh bringing round tea and bacon (“You need protein Max, there’s no use arguing with me. Please eat?”) she’d probably be a skeleton by now.

 

It felt like Rachel was here, in the room, judging her. _“You didn’t save her!_ ” she heard her accuse. _“I did everything I could to show you how! How could you let her go?”_ She had half a mind to burn the flannel and bury her memories of them both. But it just wasn’t going to happen. She’d let go once, twice, and she knew she couldn’t do it again.

 

“Where do I go without you, Chloe?” she asked the photo of the two of them, the day William passed. “What’s the point?”

 

\-------------☆--------☆----------

 

Max watched the clock sometimes as she hid in her room, buried deeper in grief than Chloe was in the earth. The rhythm of counting was soothing, but at least once per minute she remembered why she was here, what she was doing, and she was submerged again. It was during one such bout of counting that there was a bang on the door. Nothing like the timid knocks of sweet, loving Kate. For a split second, Max hoped it was Chloe, by some time-travel magic she couldn’t control. But the door swung open, and Victoria Chase was in her doorway.

 

“Get dressed,” she said abruptly, not looking at Max. “You’re going out tonight.”

 

“I don’t want-” Max began, but Victoria cut her off.

 

“I don’t remember asking. Get dressed. Wear something nice, if you know how.” Victoria rummaged in her closet unbidden for a moment and pulled out a tee shirt dress that was hidden at the back. Black, nondescript, slightly clingy. “Wear this. I’ll pick you up at 9. This isn’t up for debate. You need to leave this room or they’re going to have you committed.” Still not looking at Max, she left the room.

 

\-------------☆--------☆----------

 

_"If you want to be a party animal, you have to learn to live in the jungle_

_Now stop worrying and go get dressed" Chloe told her, giving her a little shove before handing her the joint._

 

_“Did you really just quote ‘Weird Science’ at me?” Max asked, laughing. “That’s like, the least convincing thing I think you’ve ever done. Ever.”_

 

\-------------☆--------☆----------

“S’cuse me…” Max mumbled, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Her mouth tasted sour with twice-tasted whisky and the grief she’d just vomited from the deepest pit of her stomach. She felt like she’d drunk her weight in whisky and wine, grabbing cups indiscriminately to find the bottom of her sorrow. “I think I’m losing it.”

Victoria grabbed her by the bicep, a bit roughly, and lifted her to her feet to wobble in place. “What the hell, Maxine?”

“Never Maxine,” Max slurred.

“Whatever. I brought you out tonight to take your mind off of things, not to watch you wallow like some pathetic wannabe in a corner.” 

“Fuck, Victoria, that’s exactly what I am. Pathetic. Wannabe. -hic- Corner.”

“No, Max, you’re not. You’re sad. I get that. But this clearly isn’t helping you. Let’s get you to bed.”

“No!” Max gasped, eyes tearing. “No, I’m awful! I let her go...every time I blink...I see her. I let her go!”

Somewhere in the back of her mind she could hear Chloe chastising her. "S _hit Maximus, get it together_ ," she chided. Max sunk back to her knees, covering her eyes with her hands, and soon everything was gone again, a dark oblivion of memories she’d never quite recover. 

 

\-------------☆--------☆----------

Morning came, and Max woke up on top of her covers, dress still on, shoes off and tossed aside on the floor. She blinked a few times, unsure of what day it was or where she was. For a few delicious moments, she couldn’t feel a single thing. She was light, and the sun streamed through her windows to induce a wicked hangover headache, but even that was oddly nice. There was a note on her bedside table, Victoria’s writing, telling her to text when she was feeling human again and that she was sorry, so fucking sorry.

“ _Chloe is dead,_ ” a voice that could only be Rachel’s whispered in her ear, all sharp rage and deep, echoing sorrow.

Max sucked in a breath at the sharp pain in her gut at that, but she found that it was manageable, for the first time ever.

“Chloe wouldn’t want me to lock myself up,” she said aloud, testing the words and talking to the ghosts she’d probably only imagined in her own guilty conscience. “She wouldn’t have asked me to let her go so I could spend the rest of my life in this room.” The words tasted true, sounded true, felt true. She breathed deeply and buried her face in her hands to hide from the glaring morning light. Still, it streamed between her fingers. There would never be another minute of her life where Chloe wouldn’t be clinging in the back of her mind, she knew that. There was no running from a grief like this, never. But Max knew she was living for two now. She could hear Chloe laughing as if she was right there beside her.  


_“Watching through my fingers, watching through my fingers_

_'Cause every minute and every hour_

_I miss you, I miss you, I miss you more…”_

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I love you guys and thanks for reading! Comment your favorite Life is Strange related track ❤


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